Classy

My hometown started buzzing when the city announced the building of an In-n-Out burger in our own humble surroundings.  This meant different things for different people, but the biggest effect I saw was the classification (classy-fication) of the nearby McDonalds.

I was a fan of this McDonalds from the beginning.  I love Big Macs.  I love them.  And I love french fries. And I love orange soda.  That is what I got every time I went.  But I worried for my beloved McDonalds, because the In-N-Out was being built directly adjacent.  I hadn't been to In-N-Out very often, but the hype was insane.  Apparently it was the best of the best of the best.  And the old, slightly ghetto McDonalds just could keep up.

But Mickey D didn't go down without a fight.  Before the In-N-Out finished construction, McDonalds did some construction of its own.  The one awkwardly positioned drive-thru lane was replaced with two spacious lanes, surrounded by rock formations and a flowing waterfall.  Parking nearly doubled, and there was now an outdoor patio for consumers to eat under.

Inside, there were sliding glass doors, and bathrooms with automatic everythings.  The floor was beautifully tiled, and there was mod artwork on the walls.  There was yet another waterfall inside, this one a clear glass pane with water streaming down on both sides, the classic "M" arc etched on the opaque divider.  One corner of the cafe-esque restaurant had a fireplace, with a few soft benches surrounding a circular table.  There was a counter for those wishing to use the internet while they dined.  On the opposite side lived the most luxurious playground a child could imagine--including a in-ground piano that played melodies when jumped on.

Occasionally I will crave a Big Mac.  I die a little inside when I walk into the Provo McDonalds.  Surely that place cannot be within the same Franchise as the castle that awaits me back home. 

Dorm

I started my Freshman year just the way I needed to: alone.  I decided to stay in the dorms because I wasn't ready to cook for myself. (I have the rest of my life to do that).

 Lots of my friends felt sorry for me.

"Dorm rooms look like jail cells," they would tell me.

Not mine.  It didn't take any time at all for my dorm to become home.

Sticker appliques lined the wall, and a folded up pink sheet added some nice color to a bland, white windowsill.  Colorful bedspreads, magnets on the mini fridge, pictures on the cork board  clothes strewn about the floor.  All of these things defined my temporary home.

But what really made my new home complete was the people.  My roommate Lacy was perfect for me.  She was laid back and easy going, and is one of the few people who knows how to calm me down.  She knows how to make me laugh, and always laughs at my jokes.  She opened my eyes to the truth that every person has their own talents and struggles, and we are who we are for a reason.

We were very, very different.  We originally had almost nothing in common.  Music, movies, activities, fashion, nothing.  But it didn't matter.  As time went on, we made compromises, and introduced things to each other.  I now love Carrie Underwood, and she loves Harry Potter.  And we both love each other.

Christmas always reminds me of Lacy, now.  She would start listening to Christmas music in October, and would keep listening until September.  We decorated our room with everything: a little tree, stockings, mistletoe, lights, snowflakes, you name it. Lacy had an apple cinnamon air freshener that made our room smell like Christmas all the time.  I loved it. When I would go to class and open my backpack, a burst of apple cinnamon would greet me.  And when I went home--Davis County home--it smelled different.  I smelled different.  I smelled of my home.

The Grove

I grew up in a house that was directly across from a mountain.  I mean directly across.  If I were to talk out of my front door and keep going, I would end up going vertically after crossing the road.  This caused many hours and days hiking, digging trenches, building swings, catching/running away from snakes, or, depending on the season, sledding.

But my favorite part about the mountain while I was growing up was The Grove.  It was just seven houses south, and far enough up the hill that you felt adventurous, but close enough that you never felt vulnerable.  I was just sure I was the only one to ever discover this place, and I considered it my own.  The dozen or so trees provided shade from the beating sun, and families of birds and squirrels .  There were several large rocks and stumps, perfect for resting on, and the different shapes and sizes of trees accounted for all sorts of imaginary appliances.

A little girl could truly be a princess in The Grove.  Swinging around trees, leaping on boughs, The shadowy, mysterious leaves provided drama, romance, or terror, depending on the need for a particular story.  Every imaginative child needs a grove.

Law and Order

I had a love/hate relationship with watching Law and Order with my dad. On the one hand, I loved spending time with my dad, even if it was just sitting next to him watching a show.  I loved feeling smart and mature and like I was on the same page as everybody else.  On the other hand, I hated Law and Order.  Hated it.  It was gruesome, it was graphic, and it disturbed me deeply.  I had nightmares.  I would worry and worry and worry that I would be raped, or murdered, or kidnapped, or caught in some sort of hostage situation. 
 But it’s what my dad liked to watch.  Because he was a lawyer, I assumed that’s what he went to go do every day.  That wasn’t true. My dad works with white collar crime, pawnzie schemes and fraud, returning funds to stockholders.  But all I knew was he worked with bad people, and for some reason everyone, bad and, well, less-bad, didn’t like him. He couldn’t give them what they wanted. So when he came home, I pretended I wanted to watch law and order.  
Eventually I stopped watching. I just couldn’t take it anymore.  And I don’t know how it happened, but we started watching TV together again, only this time the show was Jeopardy.  It was also a love/hate relationship.  I loved Jeopardy.  I hated when I wasn’t watching jeopardy.  My dad and I, we’re both smart. We both hate the teen tournament, and we both understand how to wager in final jeopardy. It’s something we truly, legitimately had in common.

Oakcrest

When I went to Oakcrest for the first time, I was intimidated beyond belief.  Everything looked so huge.  The mountains, the trees, the field, the lodge, the array of cabins, there was so much and so much of it.  Would it be possible for this place to become home to me? I got a brief impression of how the campers would feel stepping off of the bus.

            Everything was green.  Being late April, things were wet and cold and untouched.  No one had been there since August of last year.   It was like the whole place was just waiting for us to arrive and bring it to life. 

            Just one week later, everything was brought to life. It was home.  

Pathetic.

I've never been a girl who needs, or even wants, a boyfriend.  I've been perfectly great single, I am very good at it, and I like who I am by myself.  But there is the occasional moment--like one I had tonight--where I look at my life and realize I've never had a significant relationship in my life.

This doesn't bother me, I'm only 19, but part of me feels like it should bother me.  I feel guilty, like I should try harder, like I should care more.  I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing to work on, but being in this hyper-dating atmosphere has definitely made it happen.

I'm studying--sort of--and so are all of my roommates.  Only Shelby (or as I call her, ShelbyandRyan) is at Ryan's, Brad came over to study with Emily, and Amanda has her friend Tyler over.  I am alone.  Which is fine.  I always study alone.  In fact, it's hard for me to study with other people.  I get distracted and get absolutely nothing done.  But for some reason studying alone tonight felt utterly pathetic.  So what did I decide to do? I went out with Amanda and Tyler to study.  And got absolutely nothing done.

Why? Did I want to get to know Tyler better? Not even a little bit.  Did I think being the third wheel would make me feel more connected to people? Maybe, but that was foolish.  All I know is, here I am, ready for bed, having done nothing but spend my evening on the couch with people I don't even really care about so that I wouldn't be pathetic.

That's pathetic.

Jack

My next door neighbor's dog, Jack, had to be put down the other day.

I never thought I could be this emotional over an animal.

My family has never really been into pets.  My dad is allergic to essentially everything, and none of us kids ever seemed particularly interested in having a pet, anyway.  I had a fish for a while.  His name was Filmore, I got him for a school project, and he lasted a surprisingly long time considering I was inconsistant at feeding him and rarely changed his water.  Obviously, I cared very deeply about him.

But Jack was different.  The Archibalds adopted him from the pound shortly after they moved next door to me.  He was precious.  He was a beautiful yellow lab, with only three legs.  For a while, he had to wear a cone around his head so he wouldn't lick an old wound.  He was big and gentle, and loved being petted. Strangely enough, he loved me.  I felt like he was my dog, only I never had to feed him or scoop his poop or take him for walks, so it was the best of all worlds.

Sometimes I would just give him big hugs and tell him all my fears.  My nephew, Holden, adored Jack.  I would take him over to say hi and pet him almost every day. I don't know how I am going to tell him, if I do at all.

I found out he was put down via facebook.  I started crying, which scared me a little, because I had never experienced loving a dog that much.  But I'll never forget jack, and the happiness he brought to me.